


Rise of the Hug-Ninja

by fictionalcandie



Category: Leverage
Genre: (aggressive) fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No-one expects the...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rise of the Hug-Ninja

**Author's Note:**

> Episode coda for S4E7: _The Grave Danger Job_. Because I cannot get over the h/c in that episode.

Hardison glanced back one more time at Parker, sitting on the bar with her tearstained but slowly smiling face, and rounded the corner into the back room. His heart felt kind of funny, sort of light and too-tight all at once, like he was happy but also kind of let-down or something like—

“Oof!” he gasped, as he was suddenly wrapped up in huge steely arms, like bands around his chest, and something gripped the back of his neck and tugged his head down, his face smothered in fluffy, pastry-scented hair— which, okay, hang on. “… Uhm… Eliot?”

“Shut up,” grunted the hug-ninja clinging to him.

Definitely Eliot, then. Eliot was the only one Hardison had ever met who could sound that gruff and annoyed while assaulting somebody with affection.

(Actually, Eliot was the only person Hardison knew who would even _engage_ in affection assault — and what was Hardison’s life _even_ , that he actually felt _grateful_ for it? Clearly, he’d been spending too much time with deadly emotionless hitter-types.)

This was… new. How was an unsuspecting hacker supposed to respond to stealth hugging? Hardison flapped his hands as much as he could with his arms pinned at his sides, unsure what he was supposed to do with them. Definitely something that wouldn’t end up with Eliot breaking fingers; he _needed_ his fingers. “Uh, man, not that I don’t appreciate— I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is great, really, but—”

“Shut _up_ , Hardison.”

The hand on the back of his neck squeezed, a little. He felt Eliot turn so that his face was sort of… half hidden in Hardison’s chest. Which, okay, was kind of odd, but Hardison wasn’t really— he didn’t _object_ , or anything, it was just— _This_ , from _Eliot_ , really?

“See, I’d be doing that,” said Hardison agreeably, “but I’m sorta busy wondering if you’ve been replaced by pod!Eliot.”

Eliot scoffed. “I’m not a pod person.”

“And I’d believe you when you say that,” Hardison promised. Experimentally, he wriggled an arm around Eliot’s waist, so he was hugging back, and— Eliot didn’t pull away and beat him to death with it, which, yes, good. That was good. And, actually, Eliot kind of— Yeah, okay. Wow.

Eliot _leaned into him_.

Huh.

“But…?” Eliot prompted, sounding like he was trying to seem impatient but wasn’t putting any effort or, like, actual _impatience_ into it.

“But,” said Hardison, shaking off his surprise and remembering that he’d been _saying_ something, “but, see, you’re kind of _hugging_ me.”

“What’s your point?”

“Real!Eliot only hugs me when I’ve just nearly died.”

“Shut up. You were in a damn coffin; statute of hug limitations on that‘s gotta be twenty-four hours,” Eliot growled. He squeezed Hardison’s nape again, held on tighter. “At _least_.”

Ah.

 _Well_ , then. That was kinda— Hardison could work with that. He could definitely work with that. Hell, he could work _miracles_ with that.

He let himself grin. It wasn’t like Eliot could see it, anyway.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “yeah, okay.”

He wrapped his other arm around Eliot, too, and held on.

**Author's Note:**

> This work can also be read here on DW or [here on LJ](http://gailsauce.livejournal.com/82211.html).


End file.
